Monday, May 21, 2012

In Place

By Scott L. Vanatter, May 21, 2012. A poem in commemoration of our youngest daughter’s birth and her current pregnancy. She is now progressed to about the same stage where Becky and Sydney survived a pretty bad car accident. (Me too. Carrie was with my Mom, as Becky and I went out to lunch.)

Becky was seven months pregnant with Sydney when we were involved in an automobile accident in 1979. Our Volvo was totaled. Half the glass in our car shattered into thousands of tiny pea-sized pieces. Becky's side of the car was destroyed. The moon roof popped off. Her head must have hit the side of the car, or the pavement, or both. She was in the Intensive Care Unit for a week. She didn’t move a muscle for the first six hours. She had a massive concussion, and a 4-inch crack in her skull, but she fully recovered -- and Sydney was unharmed. NOTE: After the paramedics stabilized her head, neck and back, they drove us ever so slowly to the nearest hospital, Queen of the Valley. Later that night she stirred. The next day she awoke. The next week she came home, healthy and happy. Below are some of my impressions then and now.

I.What…(Instantly)What… is . . .No.

Out of place.Can’t really see. Shouldn’t beThere. To my right,Movement.

II.(Now)In the cornerOf my eye I see CommotionWhere there should beStillness.Why?

III.CrushPushing left(The next moment)Sound filling the innerQuiet with bareLoudness.

How is this happening?How is it even feasible?With all the complexities and possibilities which exist in the world,This cannot be happeningNow.

It won’t stop.

But.

Then . . .

It does.Quick. Suddenly. Finally.It stopped.

But, then once more a terrible silence and stillness.

Visions of decades of single parenthood of two girlsFlash before my mind’s eye.

Immediately the whole scene comes and then goesAs I imagine our second child surviving to grow old.

But a new, better vision opens…I reach for the consecrated oil. I anoint. I bless.She does not yet stir,But I am at peace.

The crowd gathers.A neighbor calls out. I ask her to call my Mother.She does not know my mother, but she locates and communicates to herWhat happenedTo us.

Medics finally arrive,Performing their precautions.Stabilizing her and my heart.

Too slowly, without rushThey casually, slowly, silently drive to Queen of the Valley.No one moves out of the way.No path is cleared.No siren.

Either,She will be okay andThere is no need to speed.Or, perhaps she is in deep trouble andIt is useless to rush.They don’t say.

VI.Doctors there now careFor her.

Family arrives, before we do,Yearning, praying, and caring . . .For her.

I walk, I focusOn her.

I pace, I askAbout her.

Without sitting, I’m listening.

After the eternity of six hours,She finally stirs. Then, fallsBack into slumber.

We must now leave, and ourselves try to sleep.Restless, sleepless dreaming.

After looking in on our first daughter,I am only half able to fully calmMy troubled heart.

On the new day,We awake to seeHer.

At Last,She awakened toGreet us.

In place of our worryIs (now) the inner assurance of the small, graceful smileOn her face.

Six months of vibrant, slow-motion, rolling and repeated, nightly dreamsAre a small price to pay for the privilege of decades together hereIn addition to being together eternities upon glorious eternities.